


Our Way is the Old Way

by karevsprincess



Series: Broken Crown [4]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Arya as the Badass Lady of Storm's End I Always Wanted But Will Never Have RIP, Children of Characters, Domestic Fluff, F/M, Future Fic, Good Dad Gendry, House Baratheon, Mama Wolf Arya, Not Canon Compliant, POV Arya Stark, Part of a Series But Could Be Read as a Stand-Alone I Guess, Storm's End (ASoIaF), tw rape mention
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-05
Updated: 2020-05-05
Packaged: 2021-03-01 19:53:36
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,395
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23992603
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/karevsprincess/pseuds/karevsprincess
Summary: “M’lady.”Arya scowled. “Don’t call me that.” She said, before reaching up to kiss him. She did not want to admit that over these past three weeks she’d begun to miss his nickname for her, just a little bit.Durran wrinkled his nose as his parents kissed. “Gross…”Arya and Gendry both laughed, and pulled apart with one last peck. “We’ll have a proper reunion when we’re alone tonight, m’lady.” Gendry whispered to her. Arya smiled, but said nothing. Oh, Gendry did not know what he was in for when she finally got him alone…~As if the Lady of Storm's End morning isn't already hectic enough in her husband's absence, there's also the matter of the murderer she has to execute and her seven-year-old daughter who wants to come along. Yes, Arya will have a few choice words for Gendry when he gets home.
Relationships: Arya Stark/Gendry Waters
Series: Broken Crown [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1274906
Comments: 8
Kudos: 99





	Our Way is the Old Way

**Author's Note:**

> Stuck in quarantine so finally going to finish the one-shots sitting in my computer folder. 
> 
> This is part of my Broken Crown series so it is not canon compliant with season eight (thank the Seven), but you could probably still follow it even if you hadn't read it. This takes place in the year 314, so Arya is 27 and Gendry is 31. He's not in the beginning of this fic but don't worry, he'll pop up before the end!

It was the first time she’d had the nightmare in years.

In her dream the White Walker’s eyes glowed blue and bright as it loomed over her. She tried to fight him off, but the White Walker had grabbed her arm and bent it backwards, forcing her into a kneeling position, her arm on fire. That was when Gendry came in and attacked the White Walker from behind, saving Arya from near death. This was a moment Arya had replayed in her mind many times since it happened – Gendry saving her life, Gendry fighting the White Walker, Gendry taking a stab wound to the chest. She got back to her feet and charged at the Walker, killing him as she drove her dagger into the Walker’s leg.

Only this time, as she stumbled to take Gendry in her arms, he was bleeding out. “Gendry, _no_.” She sobbed, her vision blurred by her tears. “No, don’t you dare die on me…”

Gendry was barely able to keep his eyes open, and she could feel his grip on her hand loosening. “I love you, Arya.” He said to her, just before his breathing stopped and the man she loved was gone, her sobs lost in the winter winds…

Arya woke with a scream lodged in her throat, her heart pounding erratically in her ears. She looked to the other side of the bed and when she saw Gendry wasn’t there, her heart clenched for a moment, until she reminded herself it was only a dream. She wasn’t at Winterfell and the War for the Dawn was over, had been over for years – she was here in her chambers at Storm’s End, hers and Gendry’s, and her husband was gone to Griffin’s Roost for the rest of the week at least. After Ser Raymund’s recent death without issue, House Wensington and House Grandison had both laid claims to the castle and lands. Gendry had gone with Ser Davos to settle the dispute before it could come to blows, but Arya had stayed behind, having no interest in listening to grown men argue for hours on end. They’d shared their extensive goodbye in this very bed three weeks past.

She was up and already changed into a tunic and breeches by the time Lady Marya came in. She’d come up from Treasure Trove to stay with Arya and help watch the children since Davos went to Griffin’s Roost with Gendry. “Ah, good to see you are awake and about m’lady. Is there anything I can do for you?”

Marya Seaworth had proven to be an unexpected friend for her in these past nine years. It was easy to see why Davos had fallen in love with her, given her kind, helpful disposition. She’d become almost like a mother to Arya, someone she felt like she could go to for advice, since her own mother was gone. Growing up Arya had been too young and naïve to fully appreciate how much she needed Lady Catelyn, and it was only after they’d been separated that she felt the full weight of her absence. After she and Gendry came to Storm’s End when she was pregnant with Jocelyn, Lady Seaworth quickly became the one Arya could trust with her most private fears. Davos’s wife had assured her that a bit of blood in the smallclothes was normal during the first trimester, that a salt water rinse could help with the pain from breastfeeding, that sometimes babies got colicky and it didn’t mean that you were a bad parent. She knew what it was like to be a mother, and Arya felt a sort of kinship towards her, the kind that could only exist between two women.

Arya pulled on her boots, but she found her hands were still trembling from her nightmare, too shaky to do her braid. “Could you help me with my hair?”

“Certainly.” Arya sat back in her chair and stared at her reflection in the looking glass as Marya brush through her tangled brown locks. Her face looked pallid this morning, all white except for the purple circles blooming under her eyes, and Arya pinched her cheeks to bring them color. “Did you sleep well last night, m’lady?”

“Not exactly.”

“Missing Lord Baratheon?”

Arya hesitated before answer. “…Something like that.” She’d not had a dream like that in years, and it unsettled her. Westeros was a safer place now than it once was, and she knew her children were growing up in a better world than she had, but Arya had seen so much death that she held those she loved closer to her. She knew not to take life for granted, because it could all be gone in an instant. “Are my children awake?”

Marya nodded. “The little lady and the little lord are already dressed and downstairs, waiting for you. Lady Selmy and Lady Dondarrion are with them.” Mya and Bella had come to Storm’s End to stay with Arya while Gendry was gone. They’d been due for a visit anyway, and this way their children could play with Arya’s and keep them busy while their father was away.

“How long was I asleep?”

“It’s not quite nine, m’lady. I was just coming in here to get you when you woke up on your own.”

 _What has gotten into me?_ Gendry being gone must’ve been messing with her more than she’d thought. Arya tried to relax and put her bad dream behind her, closing her eyes and enjoying the feeling of Marya’s fingers weaving through her hair. She’d been married to Gendry for almost ten years and Arya had still never acquired the typically ladylike skills of hair or fashion – though when she’d moved to Storm’s End after her marriage, other noble ladies in the Stormlands had begun to copy her typical dress of breeches and a tunic, all wanting to look like Lady Baratheon. Arya thought it was annoying. Gendry thought it was hilarious.

Once Arya’s hair was done, the two women walked out of the room and down the stairs. Storm’s End only had one colossal tower, with the feast hall on the ground floor and the lord’s chambers further up, but Arya wanted to walk around and check everything before they went to break their fast. She checked to see that the horses had been fed, stopped by to say hello to Hot Pie and Willow in the kitchens, and then bid good morning to the smiths in the forge – even though Gendry didn’t work as a smith anymore, he was still as passionate about ironworking as ever, and kept several smiths employed at Storm’s End. It was his ambition to have the Stormlands become known for producing the best swords in all the Seven Kingdoms. 

The women were crossing the yard back towards the tower when Arya suddenly caught a flash of black hair and golden fabric out of the corner of her eye, and she looked up. “Durran!” She yelled. “What are you doing?”

Her son had somehow managed to climb up to the top of the curtain wall. Arya did not know how he’d done it – the walls of Storm’s End were perfectly flat, not a stone out of place so the winds could find no purchase. Some whispered that Bran the Builder had helped Durran Godsgrief build the castle and weaved ancient magic into the stonework.

Her four-year-old peered down at her and Lady Marya, Durran’s blue eyes growing wide at getting caught. “What have I told you?” Arya asked him.

“No climbing.” Durran answered. “But I won’t fall Mummy, I promise – ” Durran had always been a rambunctious boy and he’d been getting into mischief around this castle practically his whole life. He’d taken his first steps at nine months old, started walking around his first nameday, and had been running not long after. Durran could never stay still for long, and dreamt of being a knight when he was older, ruling a holdfast for his big sister. Sometimes he reminded Arya so much of Bran as a little boy that it physically hurt.

“I don’t care,” Arya called to him. “Get down from there before you hurt yourself!” Durran raced to the other end of the wall – nearly giving Arya a heart attack as he did so – and then grabbed onto a vine of ivy to rappel himself downwards. As soon as he was on the ground Arya rushed over to his side and pulled Durran into her arms to embrace him. “You scared me half to death, darling. Don’t do that again, all right?”

Durran nodded and burrowed further into her arms. “I’m sorry, Mummy.”

Arya sighed and kissed his forehead. “And I’m sorry I yelled. But you know I only tell you not to climb because I love you and I want you to be safe, right?” Durran nodded his little head. In moments like these, Arya wondered how her own mother had managed to keep her sanity while worrying about five children of her own – Arya only had two, and their antics had probably already taken years off her life. No one ever told you about the fear that came along with the joy, the constant, paralyzing terror that something would befall the child you’d grown within your own body, that knowledge that you would do anything, including sacrifice your own life, to protect them. She brushed some of Durran’s thick Baratheon black hair out of his face. “Have I told you lately you are so much like your uncle?”

Durran looked at her confusedly. “Uncle Jon?”

“No, your uncle Bran.” Durran was only four years old, so he did not know everything about Arya’s lost family members, and he certainly did not know everything his parents had endured in the wars to make it possible for him to be standing here right now. But Arya wanted her children to know of her mother and father, and of her deceased brothers, even though they could never meet them. Durran looked like Gendry in miniature, but sometimes when she looked at him all she could see was Bran. 

She picked Durran up – luckily he was still young enough that he did not mind affection from his mother, Arya did not know what she would do when her baby boy didn’t want to hug her anymore – and looked back at Lady Marya, who was watching them silently. “I’m sorry.” Arya said to her, feeling bad for making the older woman watch her reprimand her son.

“Don’t apologize.” Marya insisted. “As a mother as well, I understand. Stannis and Steffon are grown with children of their own, and I still worry about them every day.” Arya thought about the Seaworths’ seven sons, and how all but two of them had gone to their graves before their parents, and she clutched Ran tighter to her at the thought. If her babies were to die before her, she did not know how she’d ever recover, how she’d be able to stop herself from lashing out at the whole world – and Lady Marya had gone through that five times. She was unimaginably strong.

When they walked into the great hall, the table was set for them to break their fast but no one was seated. In the corner of the room, a group of women and children were clustered, their heads all bent over something Arya could not see. The girl with the black hair and the yellow dress she could immediately pick out as her own daughter, and the two little brown-haired girls next to her had to be Shireen and Lily. She set Durran down on the floor. “Jocelyn,” Arya called out. “What have you got there?”

Her seven-year-old daughter turned to look at her and batted her blue eyes innocently. That was how Arya knew she wanted something. “It’s hurt, Mummy. Can’t we keep it?”

Arya frowned. “Keep what?”

She walked over, where Mya and Bella were both kneeling down with the children, something cupped in Mya’s hands. Arya looked down and saw that it was a bird, with a yellow-feathered head and black wings, except one of its wings was jutting out an unnatural angle. “It’s broken.” Mya told her. “Jocelyn and the girls found it lying in the yard this morning. It can’t fly.”

Durran appeared at Arya’s side and squeezed her hand. “Is the bird going to die, Mummy?” 

At Durran’s question, young Shireen Seaworth’s eyes went wide. The Seaworths’ six-year-old granddaughter, the son of Stannis and his wife Meredyth Wylde, Shireen was a shy and sensitive girl with big, brown doe eyes and Jocelyn’s closest friend. “The bird can’t die, can it?” She asked, racing over to her grandmother. “It’s only a baby.”

Lady Marya smiled, and stroked her granddaughter’s hair. “We’ll try our very best, sweetling.” 

“We _have_ to save it Mummy!” Jocelyn insisted emphatically. “Lords and ladies are supposed to help people who need it, and sometimes animals need help too. It’s even black and gold, like Daddy’s shield. I think we were meant to help it.”

Arya’s heart melted at her daughter’s innocent words. Jocelyn had always been such a sweet girl, from the moment she’d first been placed in Arya’s arms as a newborn baby. Animals, in particular, were one of Jocelyn’s great loves. Ever since she was two, she had taken joy in naming the new ponies born in Storm’s End stables. Once when she was three, they’d found a rat inside the castle, but Jocelyn’s blue eyes had welled with tears and she begged Arya and Gendry not to kill it. In the end they’d given in and released the rat outside.

“Joss,” Arya said to her now. “I don’t know if we can.”

“Maybe Maester Jurne can fix it!” Lily offered up. Hot Pie and Willow’s daughter was four years old and idolized Jocelyn, practically following her everywhere. “He knows about medicine!” The other children immediately latched onto Lily’s idea, nodding in agreement.

Arya opened her mouth to remind the girls that Maester Jurne was a busy man with a great many things to do, but when she saw Jocelyn staring at her with hope in her eyes, Arya knew she was powerless to refuse her. She sighed and looked at Lady Marya. “Could you fetch Maester Jurne?” Jocelyn, Shireen and Lily all squealed with delight.

Bella turned to her sons. “Edric, Maric,” The Dondarrion boys had inherited their mother’s Baratheon look and looked like they were twins, though they were actually five and four, exactly twelve months apart. “Can you see if you can find a small box we can put the bird in? Then Maester Jurne can fix its wing.”

Edric and Maric returned a few minutes later with a small box, just as Lady Marya came back with Jurne. “What have we got here?” The old maester was debriefed on the situation and Jocelyn, Shireen and Lily gathered eagerly around, watching as Jurne wrapped the scared bird carefully in some cloth.

“Can you save him, Maester?” Shireen asked.

“Oh, I think I can.” Jurne told the girls, placing the bird gently in the box. “He just needs some time to recuperate. I’ll keep him nice and snug in this box, and make sure he’s warm. Then once he’s healed, we can release him back outside, doesn’t that sound nice?” The girls all nodded eagerly. “Wonderful. Now go on girls and have your breakfast, all right?” The girls thanked Maester Jurne profusely and finally consented to sitting down to eat, Arya mouthing the maester her own thanks as he took the bird up to his chambers.

Mya had to help a struggling Bella off the floor – she was currently great with her third child, and couldn’t move very easily without assistance – and now that Mya had her hands free she picked up her own child, who was crying for attention. While Bella brought her boys with her, Mya had left her son Addam behind with her husband, as he’d come down with a bit of a summer fever. Baby Mary, who was only two, came with her so she wouldn’t catch what her brother had. “Oh, I hope this one is a girl.” Bella said, watching as Mya bounced Mary in her arms. “Girls are easier.”

Arya scoffed. “Girls can be sweet, but they can also be difficult and unkind. They’re not just all sunshine and hair bows, you know.” She thought of Sansa and herself as young girls, and all the cruel barbs they would exchange just to hurt each other.

“Easy for you to say,” Mya retorted. “When you have the sweetest, most perfect daughter in the world. Has Jocelyn ever done a bad thing in her life? Are we sure she’s yours?” 

Arya rolled her eyes at her goodsister’s joke. “Considering the thirteen hours I labored to bring her into the world, I’d say so. Now shush.”

Hot Pie came up to bring them the food and they all sat down to eat. “Lily!” He chided when he saw his daughter squeeze herself between Jocelyn and Shireen. “Your mother’s been worried sick about you all morning! Go and tell her you’re all right before she tears this castle up looking for you.” Lily sighed and got up, following Hot Pie back to the kitchens. Arya shared a knowing look with Lady Marya from across the table. She supposed it was every mother’s plight to worry about her children.

A servant filled everyone’s cups with tea and the plates of bacon, eggs, and bread were passed around. Jocelyn immediately reached for a lemon cake. Hot Pie had just made them fresh, dusted with powdered sugar, the way he knew she liked them best. Jocelyn loved lemon cakes – she was, after all, Sansa Stark’s niece through and through.

“I think we’ll call him Beric, if he’s a boy,” Bella was saying. “But Borros does not like any of the girl names I like.”

“What were you thinking of?” Mya asked, taking a sip of her water.

“Jena, Floris, Beatrice – ”

Mya nearly choked. “ _Beatrice_?” Bella scowled at her, and Arya could not hold back her laughter.

“What’s wrong with it? It’s a nice name.”

“It’s a baby, Bella, not a grandmother.”

“Well, she can have a nickname!” Bella protested, but when Mya only raised a dark eyebrow at her, she sighed. “Fine, not Beatrice then. But Borros wants to name the baby Donella. I know it was his mother’s name, and I appreciate the sentiment, but _Donella Dondarrion_? It sounds ridiculous.”

Mya passed some eggs to Arya, but she wrinkled her nose and pushed the plate away. “None for me.”

“I didn’t know you found them so revolting.” Bella said, taking an egg for herself. “What’s with that face?”

“They smell strange, is all.” Impulsively, Arya took a lemon cake, and Mya and Bella exchanged a look. “What?”

“Oh, nothing dear sister.” Bella said, but she was smiling, her voice laced with sarcasm, and Mya covered her mouth with her hand to hold back her laughter. 

Arya looked from one of them to the other, licking some sugar off one of her thumbs. “Why you are you two being so odd?” 

Before her sisters-in-law could respond, they were interrupted by the arrival of a page. “Pardon me m’lady, but Ser – ”

“I’m no ser.” A gruff voice responded, and Arya didn’t need an introduction to know who that was. She stood up from the table just as the Hound stalked into the room, still wearing his dirty riding clothes.

The Hound had been in House Baratheon’s service since after the war, after he survived his duel with the Mountain and pledged his sword to Arya. Every few months he’d come by Storm’s End for a hot meal, a warm bed to sleep in, and to update her on the current state of affairs, staying for several weeks and then disappearing again. Other than that he rode around the Stormlands with a few men, administering justice and chasing criminals. The Hound was not the type of person who liked being in one place for too long, but Arya knew he would always return.

Jocelyn and Durran both bolted up from their seats. “Ser Hound!” They shrieked with delight, before rushing to hug him. ‘Ser Hound’ was Jocelyn’s nickname for Clegane ever since she could talk, and Durran had picked up on it too – the Hound didn’t bother to correct them anymore. The children loved him, and though the Hound pretended to be indifferent, as he weakly returned Jocelyn and Durran’s hugs, Arya thought to herself that he loved them too.

“Hello, little stags. I’ve got to speak with your mother – ”

“Ser Hound!” Durran said. “I climbed the curtain wall this morning, just like I showed you! Mummy was so upset – ”

“Wait.” Arya said, looking at Sandor. “You _knew_ he was – ”

“Ser Hound!” Jocelyn added, tugging on his sleeve. “Do you want to watch me practice my archery this afternoon? I’m getting so much better, Mummy said so!” Even though Jocelyn had never been interested in swordplay, Arya had insisted she be trained in some type of weapon, for the matter of self-defense. Jocelyn gravitated towards the bow and arrow, while Durran was anxious to pick up a hammer like his father’s.

“Maybe.” the Hound told Jocelyn. “Now, go and have your breakfast. Your mother and I have to talk about something.”

The children went back to the table, while Arya followed the Hound into the hallway. “You knew Durran was climbing again?”

The Hound scoffed. “Oh, don’t be such a mama wolf. I was right there with him, he was fine.”

“Whatever.” The Hound could tell her not to be a mama wolf all he wanted, but she was one, and that wasn’t going to change. “What did you find this rotation?”

“Found some squatters near Summerhall and told them to get lost – pointed ‘em in the direction of an almshouse. Three men took turns raping a woman in Weeping Town, so we hung the guilty. Other than that there was just some petty theft, but not that much, what with the stores being so good…” the Hound trailed off, turning to look at her. “I’m not here to talk to you ‘bout any of that, though.”

“Oh?”

“On our way in from the village this morning, we got news of a murder that happened three days ago. The fellow’s confessed, so we brought him with us.”

“If he’s confessed, why don’t you just execute him?”

“Did the crime on your husband’s lands, so it’s his call.” the Hound gave her a look. “But seeing as he’s gone, I suppose you’re the lucky lady.”

“Oh, seven hells.” Arya sighed. “You said he murdered someone – what exactly did he do?”

“Not just _someone_ ,” the Hound said. “A girl. I saw the body and it was…bad. Really bad. Raped and then stabbed.”

Arya knew it must’ve been bad if even the Hound thought so. Death never fazed him. “How old was she?”

“Eight.”

“How many times did he stab her?”

“At least a dozen.”

Arya muttered a stronger curse under her breath. An eight-year-old was a little girl. That was the same age Jocelyn would be turning this year, Arya did not even want to imagine… “We’ll go at once. Just give me a moment to ask Mya and Bella to watch the children while I’m gone. They’ve already gotten into enough mischief for one day.”

“For any children of yours, there’s never enough mischief.” the Hound said. “But fine. I’ll meet you in the yard. Don’t keep me waiting.”

Arya rolled her eyes at him, and turned to head back into the great hall. Doing so, she almost collided into Jocelyn. Her daughter was standing in the doorway, and looked up in surprise when she was caught eavesdropping. “…How much of that did you hear?”

Jocelyn smiled bashfully. “Only the end of it.”

Arya sighed, and knelt down to Jocelyn’s level, so she could look her in the eyes. “I have to go with Ser Hound to discipline a bad man. I need you and your brother to stay with your aunts and Lady Seaworth until I get back.”

Jocelyn frowned. “But I want to come with you.”

Arya did not know what she’d expected Jocelyn to say, but she laughed. “Jocelyn, this is grown up business. You won’t enjoy yourself. Wouldn’t you much rather stay here and play with Shireen and Lily?”

“I don’t want to enjoy myself. I want to go with you!”

 _Stubborn._ Arya knew she shouldn’t be surprised. That was something she and Gendry both were, so of course her children had inherited it. And Baratheons were famously stubborn – it was a family trait. _Ours is the fury_ and all that. “This is business for the Lord or Lady of Storm’s End, Joss.”

Nonetheless, Jocelyn persisted. “And someday I’ll be Lady of Storm’s End,” She said. “So I want to learn the Lady of Storm’s End’s business.”

Arya opened her mouth to object again, but then paused. Her father always used to take Jon and Robb when he had to behead a man, and Bran came with him that once too. Arya had never been allowed to go though – it was men’s work, her father said, with a smile and a pat on the head. But someday Jocelyn was going to be the ruler of this castle, and she was going to have to oversee executions, even if she did not perform them herself. Arya swore she would never treat her daughter any differently than any other heir to a great house just because she was a girl, but she was still uncertain. Jocelyn was only seven, and she’d never seen a man die before, not even one who deserved it. Arya had witnessed death from a young age. She didn’t want Jocelyn to. “This man is going to die, Joss. It may be too much for you. Perhaps when you’re older…”

But Jocelyn only raised her chin indignantly, shoulders back and head held high. “I’m Lady Jocelyn Baratheon, both wolf and stag. I won’t be afraid.”

For seven years Arya had struggled to see the resemblance between herself and her ladylike, black-haired daughter that Gendry swore was always there, but in that moment she felt as if she was looking at Jocelyn for the first time. Her blue eyes had the stubborn determination of the Baratheons, but on her face was etched the quiet strength of the Starks. _Oh yes,_ Arya thought. _I see it now…_ “We’ll saddle your horse.”

The smile Jocelyn gave her in that instant could only be described as ‘wolfish’. 

* * *

As they rode out for the execution, grey clouds began to roll in over Storm’s End, indicative of a summer thunderstorm. The air was thick with humidity, and her clothes and hair stuck to her skin. Arya was at the front of the group on her mare, the Hound on one side of her on his stallion and Jocelyn on the other. Her daughter rode alongside on her pony – she had wanted one that was the same color as Gendry’s horse, Baratheon black – named Meleys, after the dragon ridden by Rhaenys the Queen Who Never Was, the half-Baratheon daughter of Jocelyn’s namesake. Jocelyn was trying to stare straight ahead and maintain a brave face, wanting to be as fearless as the historical women she adored, and Arya shot her an encouraging smile.

When they arrived on the hilltop where the accused man was being held by some of the Hound’s men, Arya swung off her horse and saw that Jocelyn was doing the same. “You need to stay here, my girl.”

Jocelyn frowned. “But I can go with you, Mum! I can be brave!”

Arya shook her head. “Of that I have no doubt. But you’ll stay here and protect the others, won’t you?”

Taking the hint, one of the members of Gendry’s household guard cleared his throat. “You know, little lady,” He said. “I’m a wee bit scared, I must confess. But you’ll keep us safe, won’t you?” The others nodded along in agreement, and Arya resisted the urge to smile.

Jocelyn giggled. “Don’t be scared, Ser Colen! I’ll protect you!” Arya discreetly winked at the men in thanks, then got up to follow the Hound.

The man was lowered onto his knees before them, and Arya narrowed her eyes at him. He was a tall and gaunt man, maybe Arya’s age or slightly older, with yellow hair, pale skin, and dark eyes squinting against the light of the sun. “I hear you’ve been accused of a grievous crime, ser.”

“Aye, m’lady.” When the man spoke, he exposed a rotted front tooth. Those squinting eyes looked Arya up and down, from her silk tunic to her dirty leather boots. “You don’t look like any lady I’ve ever seen. But I heard it said that Lord Baratheon’s wife was a queer one. Maybe that’s why he sent you to do his dirty work. Tell me m’lady, who has the bigger balls in your relationship – you or your lord husband?”

Arya ignored his insults. “My husband is away, so you’ll have to deal with me. My friends here tell me you raped and then murdered a girl of only eight years. Do you deny these charges?”

He shrugged. “Considering they caught me standing over her body, I don’t think I very well can, can I? Poor thing. She was so pretty. Not so much anymore.”

The nonchalance with which he spoke made Arya feel the swell of hatred stir up inside of her. “Why did you stab her?”

“Little thing started crying. Said she was going to tell her mum. I couldn’t let her do that, could I?”

Arya bit the inside of her cheek, trying to maintain her composure. “Well then. If you confess, let’s get on with it. I, Arya Stark Baratheon, the Lady of Storm’s End and Lady Paramount of the Stormlands, do hereby sentence you to die. Do you have any last words?”

“Very well.” The man’s eyes flicked to Jocelyn. “Your daughter is a fine little flower, isn’t she? At least if I must die, I’ll die looking upon a sweet face. So young and innocent, with those big blue eyes…”

Immediately, Arya’s whole body filled with hatred. Without looking away from the man’s face, she extended her hand towards the Hound. “Give me your sword.”

The Hound frowned at her. “What?”

“Give me your sword. Mine’s not big enough to cut clean through a neck.”

“Oh come on!” the Hound complained. “Killing sick bastards is the best part of my job. I haven’t gotten a good murderer to behead in a while…”

“Sword.” Arya repeated, firmer this time. “ _Now_.”

The Hound unsheathed his sword, but hesitated. “Are you sure you can even lift the damn thing? It’s bigger than yours.”

Arya said nothing. She was so angry right now, she probably would’ve had the strength to lift the Hound himself if she had to. She took his sword from him and handed him Needle and her dagger. She looked at two of the Hound’s men. “Turn him the other way.”

They grabbed the guilty man by the arms, readjusting him so that he faced the other direction, his back to the party. Arya glanced back over at Jocelyn, finding her daughter standing there perfectly composed, one hand folded in front of her, the other clutching Ser Colen’s hand. Arya wanted to tell Jocelyn to look away, but she knew the girl would not even if she were asked. While perhaps the girl was more traditionally feminine than Arya, with her love of dresses and music and animals, there was no doubt that she was tough.

The man’s head was forced down on the rock and Arya turned back around, driving the Hound’s sword through his neck with one clean stroke.

Afterwards, some of the Hound’s men picked up the body, another carrying the head in his hands. Arya slammed the sword against the Hound’s chest without a word, her stomach feeling sick as she brushed past him and headed back to the horses. Jocelyn was frozen where she stood, her hand still placed in Ser Colen’s, and she did not tear her eyes away from the body until Arya approached her. “Are you all right?”

Jocelyn nodded. “Ser Colen was scared, but don’t worry Mummy. I protected him.” Arya could not help but smile at that.

She waved the knights away, and knelt down in front of Jocelyn. “Do you understand why I did it?”

“He hurt a girl – ”

“That’s not what I meant.” Arya paused, placing her hands gently on Jocelyn’s arms. “Do you know why your father and I named you Jocelyn?”

“After Princess Jocelyn,” The girl said immediately. “Prince Aemon’s wife, and Princess Rhaenys’s mother.” She’d always enjoyed learning about her namesake and wanted to be like her when she grew up.

“Yes, but there was another Jocelyn too. Jocelyn Stark, the daughter of Lord Willam Stark and his wife Lady Melantha, sister to my great-grandfather. It’s a name that is both Stark and Baratheon, as are you. You may be a Baratheon of Storm’s End like your father, but my blood runs through your veins as well, Joss, the blood of the First Men. Can I tell you something my father used to tell my brothers?”

Jocelyn perked up. “Grandpa Ned?”

Arya smiled forlornly at the mention of her father. “Yes, Grandpa Ned. He said: the man who passes the sentence should swing the sword. That is the way of the Starks, and our way is the old way, Jocelyn. Promise me that when you’re the Lady of Storm’s End someday, and the time comes when it is your duty to administer justice, you will look into a man’s eyes and hear his final words. If you don’t do that, then perhaps they don’t deserve to die. Can you promise me?”

“I promise, Mummy.”

“Good. Now let’s – ” But before Arya could finish her sentence, the men carried the headless body past, and the wind carried the scent of fresh blood to her nose. Usually it would not bother her, but suddenly her stomach revolted, and Arya bolted to her feet without another word, hurrying off towards the trees to be sick.

As she violently emptied the contents of her stomach into a nearby bush, she heard the sounds of footsteps walking up behind her. “You fucking knocked up again?” the Hound asked gruffly.

“…No.” When she glanced at the Hound, he was giving her a knowing look. Arya knew she could not deny her suspicions anymore: her breasts hurt, she was craving lemon cakes, her moon blood hadn’t come yet, and now she was getting violently ill in a bush. She’d been pregnant twice before and she knew what it was like. This was what she got for marrying the son of a man with infamous virility – but she wasn’t going to give the Hound the satisfaction of telling him he was right. “You going to hold my hair back or what?”

The Hound laughed. “Do I look like your fucking husband to you? Hold back your own damn hair.”

Once Arya was confident she was done being sick for now, she stood up and wiped her mouth with the edge of her sleeve. The Hound handed her Needle and her dagger back. “Where’s Jocelyn? Is she all right?” She hoped she had not scared the girl when she ran off to puke.

The Hound looked almost proud as he responded. “The little lady is riding back to the castle with the others. She didn’t look away once during the whole thing – barely even blinked. Must be the wolf bitch in her. She really is your daughter after all.”

Arya could not help but smile a little. “She is.” She would need to give Jocelyn a big hug and kiss when she saw her, for being so brave.

But as she turned to walk back to the horses, her stomach suddenly twisted again and Arya knew she wasn’t going to be able to make it even to the bush. “What are you – ?” the Hound started to say, walking towards her.

Arya effectively cut him off when she vomited all over his boots. Her mouth tasted like bile. _Fucking Gendry._ This was all his fault.

The Hound cursed and stomped to get her puke off his shoes. “Oh seven bloody hells! When your husband gets home, I’ll cut his dick off myself.”

Arya scowled at him. “Not if I get to him first.” The Hound laughed at that.

“Ha! That poor bastard. An angry, pregnant wolf bitch there to welcome him home? He won’t know what hit him…”

“I’m going to hit you if you don’t shut up right now.”

“Oh, like hell you will.” They climbed back onto their horses, and the Hound gave her a look. “Well…I suppose congratulations are in order. If this kid is half as annoying as you, we’re all in for it.”

Arya was silent for a moment, trying to think of something snarky to say, but in the end she only gave the Hound a tentative smile. “Thanks.”

The Hound looked away, but Arya swore she saw him smile too. “…You’re welcome.”

* * *

They got back to Storm’s End just as the skies opened up. As they got off the horses, Durran ran out into the courtyard. “Mummy, it’s raining!” He yelled, as if Arya hadn’t noticed the water now pouring from the sky. She took Jocelyn by the hand and, laughing, they skipped through the mud and back into the castle.

They went up to the lord and lady’s chambers to change into fresh clothes and were brought their afternoon tea. “Is it true that men shit themselves when they die?” Durran asked.

Jocelyn frowned, her mouth full of strawberry tart. “That’s disgusting. Who told you that?”

“Ser Hound.”

Arya scoffed as she pulled a clean shirt over her head. _Of course._ “Don’t concern yourself with that, Ran.”

“Mum was so tough,” Jocelyn said to her little brother. “The bad man was trying to annoy her, and she didn’t let it bother her. She wasn’t scared, not even for a minute.”

Durran looked at Arya, blue eyes wide, crumbs at the corner of his mouth. “Have you killed a great many people, Mum?”

 _More than you can count, my son._ It was a question she genuinely feared, but knew she would someday have to answer. She didn’t want her children to know the person she was before she became their mother. “Only bad people, Ran.”

“That’s good,” Durran said. “It’s not right to kill nice people.”

Their conversation was interrupted by a knock at the door, and when Arya opened it, she came face to face with old Maester Jurne, holding a box. “Sorry to bother you, my lady. I only thought the little lady and the little lord would like to see how their bird friend is doing.”

Both Jocelyn and Durran’s eyes lit up, and Maester Jurne set the box down on the table. Inside the bird was now sitting upright, its dark eyes roving round, and he began to chirp as the children peered into the box. “Will he be all right, Maester?” Jocelyn asked.

“I think so, my lady. His injury is not too extreme.” Jurne answered her. “You know your great-uncle saved an injured bird once. I helped wrap his wing just like this. Stannis kept him as a pet for a while.”

Jocelyn and Durran looked at each other. “I don’t think we should keep him,” Durran said. “He’s wild. He should be able to fly wherever he wants.”

“I bet when he’s all better,” Jocelyn said. “He’ll be able to fly as far as Dorne. Nay – Essos!”

“Do you think he’ll remember us?” Durran asked. “Maybe he’ll come back and visit. Since we saved him.”

Arya could not repress her smile. “Perhaps, Ran. I’m sure he will have a good life.”

The children continued to coo over the bird for a little while longer until there was the sound of horses in the courtyard, and the blare of trumpets. “M’lord has returned!” Someone called.

Immediately, both Jocelyn and Durran bolted upright in their seats. “Daddy’s home!” Jocelyn cried, and she and her brother both jumped up and raced for the door.

“Jocelyn, Durran, don’t run ins– ” Arya cut herself off mid-protest as her children burst out of the chamber. With a sigh, Arya rolled her eyes to herself, then got up to follow them.

When she arrived in the courtyard, Gendry and Ser Davos were just getting off their horses, and Jocelyn and Durran were running as fast as their little legs could carry them. “Daddy, Daddy!” Jocelyn got to Gendry first and threw herself at him, wrapping her arms around his legs, and Gendry smiled and knelt down to her level, just as Durran reached them and also embraced his father, colliding into his shoulder.

“Hey,” Gendry said, kissing the tops of both their heads. “How are you two?”

“Daddy, I missed you _so much_!” Jocelyn insisted. “It felt like you were gone _forever_!”

“I know, Jossie. But I promise I won’t leave again for a long time, all right?”

“You and your brother didn’t cause too much trouble for your mother while your father was away, did you little lady?” Ser Davos asked Jocelyn.

Jocelyn and Durran exchanged a look. “Only a little trouble.” Durran finally said. Gendry and Ser Davos both chuckled at that, and Gendry lifted both Jocelyn and Durran off the ground, one in each arm, tickling their sides to make them giggle.

Arya hung back for a moment, watching their interactions with a smile on her face. She loved how much Jocelyn and Durran loved their father. It reminded her of being a little girl, excitedly waiting for her father to return home, the pure excitement she felt when he came home after being gone…

Lady Marya and Shireen came out to greet Ser Davos, and Arya walked over to Gendry and her children. Her husband smiled at her. “M’lady.”

Arya scowled. “Don’t call me that.” She said, before reaching up to kiss him. She did not want to admit that over these past three weeks she’d begun to miss his nickname for her, just a little bit.

Durran wrinkled his nose as his parents kissed. “Gross…”

Arya and Gendry both laughed, and pulled apart with one last peck. “We’ll have a proper reunion when we’re alone tonight, m’lady.” Gendry whispered to her. Arya smiled, but said nothing. Oh, Gendry did not know what he was in for when she finally got him alone…

Mya and Bella came out to join them. “Ahh, the famous brother returns,” Mya teased, before going to hug Gendry. “You are so busy, little brother, I feared I would not see you again for another moonturn.”

“Nonsense.” Gendry insisted, before turning to his other sister. “Hello Bella, you look…”

Bella scowled at him, both hands over her large stomach. “If you say ‘fat’, Gendry Baratheon, I swear to all the gods, I will punch you in the jaw so hard you will not be able to see straight for a week.”

“I was going to say beautiful. You’re practically glowing.” Bella rolled her eyes at him, but took Gendry’s arm as they began to walk inside.

Mya grabbed Arya, holding her back a moment as the others headed for the castle. “So,” She said. “Should I offer my brother congratulations, or condolences?”

“I do not know what you mean.”

“I meant, should I congratulate him for getting you in the family way, or give my condolences since his wife is about to castrate him?” Mya ducked her head and lowered her voice. “I haven’t said anything to anyone, don’t worry. But this morning, that egg made you look like you wanted to throw up. I know that look. When I was pregnant with Addam, even thinking about fish made me gag, and when I was pregnant with Mary I told Arstan I did not want to see a single persimmon anywhere in the castle, because they disgusted me so.”

Arya smirked. “You’ve caught me. I’ll tell Gendry tonight.”

“Should I ask the guards to stand outside your bedchamber to protect your husband’s balls?”

A laugh escaped Arya’s lips. “I will not make a eunuch of him tonight. If he ever does this to me again, however…” Mya laughed too, and Arya tightened her grip on her sister-in-law’s arm. “Actually…I’m quite content, I think.”

Mya smiled. “Well, I’m glad of it. I would hate to see my baby brother emasculated, and…I’m happy for you. You deserve every joy in the world, goodsister. I really mean that.”

* * *

At their guests’ insistence, they dined alone in Arya and Gendry’s solar that evening. Gendry’s sisters and the Seaworths insisted that they could all dine together tomorrow, so it was just the four of them for supper. Still, Hot Pie had made enough food to feed a dozen. It was appreciated, as Gendry told her the cook at Griffin’s Roost was not half as good as their friend, and Arya was starving. She’d barely eaten at breakfast or tea.

“Has no one been feeding you while I was away?” Gendry teased, and she scowled playfully at him.

“Are you calling me fat, Baratheon?”

“Not at all, m’lady.”

“I went out with Mum and Ser Hound today, Daddy.” Jocelyn piped up. “Mummy had to discipline a bad man.”

“Did she now?”

“Mmmhmm.” Jocelyn nodded. “He was mean, but Mummy wasn’t scared. I wasn’t either! I was brave, Daddy, Mummy and Ser Hound both said so. And Mummy says that it’s important to look a man in the eyes and hear his final words, even if he is bad.”

Gendry smiled, and Arya was brimming with pride. “That’s right, Joss.”

“Daddy,” Durran said. “Do you want to see the bird we saved today? Maester Jurne says that he’ll be good as new soon, all thanks to us.”

“Sure, Durran.”

The children got up to fetch their bird, leaving Arya and Gendry alone at the table. She stood up and Gendry pushed back his chair so she could sit in his lap, wrapping her arms around his neck. “Don’t Lords Wensington and Grandison know that you’re my husband and not theirs? And I’m very bad at sharing.”

Gendry chuckled and she kissed him. “It was torture. They argued constantly, day after day. They’d fight and name call like a pair of five-year-olds. I thought that Grandison might stab Wensington at one point. In the end both Davos and I agreed that neither of them should get Griffin’s Roost. We’ll give it to a member of the household guard, or to Durran when he gets older.”

“Hmm.” Arya said. “It’s not a bad idea. But if we gave every disputed inheritance in the Stormlands to one of our children, we’d probably have to have a great deal more.”

“I don’t think so. I do prefer my cock attached to my body.”

Arya smirked, and kissed him again. _Oh, if only he knew…_

The children returned with the box that held the bird and Gendry made all the appropriate comments of pleasure as they talked through the minute details of their day. Finally, after the children had informed Gendry about every little thing they did since he left, it was time for bed. Arya tucked Durran in first, and she saw his blue eyes blink rapidly as he tried to stave off the approaching sleep. “Mummy?”

“Yes Durran?”

“I…” Durran was cut off by his own yawn. “I’m sorry I was climbing again. I won’t do it anymore. I don’t want you to be scared, Mummy.”

Arya smiled and brushed her son’s hair off of his forehead. “Thank you, Ran. I just want you to be safe.”

“I will be safe. I – ” Another yawn. “I have you, and Daddy and Ser Davos and Auntie Mya and Auntie Bella always say that you helped save the world. You’re the strongest, smartest, prettiest, bestest Mummy ever.”

Tears rushed to Arya’s eyes at that, and she bent down to kiss Durran’s forehead. “I love you, Durran. Sleep well.”

“Goodnight Mummy. I love you.”

She left Durran quickly so he would still be conscious enough to say goodnight to Gendry, and then they swapped rooms, Arya going to check up on Jocelyn. Her daughter was already tucked into bed when she got there, her black hair splayed out on the pillow. “I came to say goodnight.”

She sat down on the edge of Jocelyn’s bed and her daughter turned to look at her. “I’m glad Daddy’s home. I missed him.”

Arya smiled. _Gendry’s little girl, as always._ “I know Joss, me too.”

“But I liked spending time with you.” Jocelyn added. “Thank you for letting us save the bird. And for taking me with you today.”

“Ser Hound told me you were very brave today. I hope you know I’m very proud of you.”

Jocelyn beamed. “I’m a Baratheon and a Stark, just like you are Mummy. Our way is the old way, remember?”

“That’s right.” Arya said. “And I think you will make an excellent Lady of Storm’s End someday.”

“A really long time from now. Cause I want Daddy to live a really long time. Until he’s a hundred.”

Arya chuckled at that. “Me too.”

“Can we practice my archery tomorrow?”

“Of course.” Arya bent down to kiss Jocelyn on the forehead, just as she’d done with Durran. “Goodnight, Jocelyn. I love you.” She blew out the candle and rose to go, but before she could shut the door, she heard Jocelyn mumble something which made her heart melt.

“I love you, Mummy. Someday I’m gonna be just like you.”

When Arya got back to their bedchamber, trying to hide the fact that her eyes had been full of tears a few moments ago, Gendry was sitting at the edge of their bed and he pushed off when he saw her. “Durran was out cold before I even left the room.” He said, walking closer to Arya. “Jocelyn is too, I bet?”

“Seems that way.”

“Now we can have our proper homecoming celebration…” Gendry grabbed her by the waist and Arya knew he wanted to kiss her, but she surprised her husband by pulling away and whacking him squarely on the chest.

“Hey!” Gendry winced. “What was that for? I’ve been gone for almost three weeks, and this is how you welcome me home?”

Arya glared up at him, her hands on her hips. “You got me fucking pregnant again.”

As her words registered, she saw Gendry’s eyes light up and he grinned at her. Damn that stupid smile, it made it impossible for her to be mad at him…“Sorry?” He said halfheartedly.

Arya rolled her eyes and smacked his chest again, but Gendry grabbed her hands and pulled her down onto their bed, then climbed on top of her to kiss her on the mouth. Arya wanted to shove him off her, but her body betrayed her by arching into him and kissing him back. She couldn’t help herself: three weeks without a kiss from her husband was a long time… “Gods, Baratheon.” She said between kisses. “I’m trying to be mad at you, can you stop being so damn perfect?”

Gendry smiled cheekily at her. “Not a chance.”

With a shake of her head and a playful roll of her eyes, Arya pushed him onto his back and straddled his lap. Undeterred, Gendry pressed a kiss to the sensitive skin on the inside of her wrist. “Of course I just had to marry into the family with the most potent fertility in the Seven Kingdoms.”

“Don’t forget your mother birthed five children.” Gendry added, using his thumb to trace circles on Arya’s belly. “This is your fault too.” He paused, his hand halting mid-motion. “Arya, if you _are_ really mad at me, about this…then I’m sorry, okay? And I understand if you – ”

Hearing the guilt in his voice, any residual annoyance Arya felt melted away and she leaned down to kiss him lightly on the lips. “Don’t apologize to me, stupid. I wasn’t exactly timely with my moon tea. And I was _certainly_ a willing participant in our couplings. We made this baby together you know.”

Gendry smiled again, more hesitatingly this time. “I believe you tackled me before I left for Griffin’s Roost.”

“That I did.” Arya smirked. “I want a set of throwing knives this time.” She said, and she could feel Gendry’s body vibrate with laughter beneath her.

He kissed her behind the ear. “As m’lady commands.”

After her first two childbirths, her Smith Lord had come out of his retirement to reward her labors. When Jocelyn was born, her prize had been her sweet, blue-eyed baby girl of course, as well as a new bow and a pristine collection of weirwood arrows. After Durran, a handy little dirk and a new shield with an impeccably carved wolf and stag crest.

She plopped down next to him on the bed now and Gendry rolled over to look her in the eyes, brushing a loose strand of hair out of her face. “I think you deserve an entire armory for your efforts, m’lady.”

“I think so too.” Arya said, folding both hands over her middle. “She better be a swordswoman.”

Gendry smiled at her in that way that never ceased to melt her heart. “She?”

“Yes, she.” Arya did not realize she’d even said it at first, surprising even herself with the strength of her conviction. She did not know how to describe it, but she somehow felt certain that the baby quickening in her womb was a girl. Call it a mother’s intuition. “Jocelyn likes her bow and arrow and Durran already wants to be like you in every way, hammer included. It’s about time I get a child who is like me.”

“Joss and Durran are already like you, in their own ways.”

Arya thought of the determined look in Jocelyn’s steely blue eyes and the fierce smile that adorned Durran’s young face. “I know.” She bit her lip. “We’ve made each other happy, haven’t we? You and I?”

“Of course. I…” Gendry paused, a thoughtful look on his face. “I never thought I would have any of this, you know? A family, a home. I didn’t think I ever would be happy like this. And it’s all thanks to you, Arya Stark.”

Tears rushed to her eyes and she wiped at them with the edge of her sleeve, feeling foolish. “Oh shut up. You can’t just make me cry like that. You know I’m more emotional when I’m with child…”

Gendry kissed her on the lips again and cupped her cheek. “Okay, you can go back to telling me how stupid I am now. I just wanted to make sure you knew. I love you Arya, and I am so thankful every day for you.”

In that moment she could’ve fallen in love with him all over again. _What did I do to deserve this much happiness?_ Her life had been so uncertain but she was suddenly so glad that it had brought her here to this moment, to him. “I love you too.” Arya propped herself up on her elbows, raising an eyebrow at Gendry and smirking devilishly. “Now, Gendry Baratheon, care to remind me exactly how it is that we made our three children?”

Gendry grinned at her. “With pleasure, m’lady.” He said, before kissing her with a newfound purpose behind it.

If when Arya was a girl, someone had told her that she’d end up Lady of Storm’s End, that this would be her life, she probably would’ve laughed in their face. But then things had changed. She’d met a man she loved with all her heart, and who loved and respected her in return. She’d found a joy she never knew existed in building a family with him, in becoming the leader of her own pack. 

Not for the first time, Arya Stark Baratheon was immensely, _immensely_ grateful that their paths had crossed again at Winterfell that snowy morning years ago.

**Author's Note:**

> My Jaime/Brienne one-shot will probably be next? That's the one I have the most written for. We'll see.


End file.
